Give and Take
by Faithful Penelope
Summary: Doggett would have sworn it was all in his head.  But apparently, the feeling was mutual.  Can he deal with this new reality?  WIP.  All mistakes mine.  Comments welcome.
1. Chapter 1

In his dream, John Doggett was before of a room full of FBI agents, desperately trying to explain the finer intricacies of the X-Files filing system.

"Ghosts go under 'A', for apparition, unless it's a poltergeist, which means it's under 'P', or a hallucination, which you would think would be filled under 'H' but is actually filed under 'P' as well, for psychosis, then 'H'."

The entire room stared at him.

From behind him, there was a bang and the floor shook. John grabbed the podium to steady himself.

Woke up with a start, both hands flailing for the dashboard. "What the hell -"

"Tire blew," Skinner stated tightly, struggling to steer the Explorer over to the side of the road. They came to a skittish stop on the shoulder, and all four agents exhaled. The car sagged unpleasantly to one side.

"Jesus," Mulder cursed. "That feels like more than just a tire."

Doggett stepped out and crouched down to see under the truck. Skinner peered back from the other side.

"The fucking rod snapped," Skinner swore. "Excuse my language, Agent Scully."

"Not a fucking problem, sir." Scully's reply floated out from the truck.

"Um, sir?" Mulder's feet were visible now, standing as he was in front of the trunk.

Skinner rubbed his forehead. "What, Mulder?"

"We've got an additional problem."

"And what is that, Mulder?"

"That tire that just blew?" The knees bent and then Mulder's face was there. "I'm pretty sure that was actually the spare, 'cause the one in the truck has a big hole in it."

Skinner looked at Mulder, then Doggett. And then he started laughing.

Mulder and Doggett's jaws dropped.

"Sir?" Scully's pumps clicked against the asphalt. "Are you okay?"

"Of course it is," Skinner gasped. He slumped down, back against the Explorer. "Of course it is."

Doggett grinned. "Another example of the quality work of the FBI motor pool."

Mulder shook his head, chuckling.

John stood with a grunt and walked around the front of the truck. "We should call a tow truck."

"Scully's on it. Mulder, help me up." There was loud series of grunts and curses, and then Skinner and Mulder were standing again. Mulder rubbed his shoulder. Skinner glared.

From 15 feet down the road, Scully flipped shut her phone and called, "they won't be here for at least an hour."

"An _hour_ –"

"Oh, for the love of –"

"Seriously –"

She pursed her lips.

"Sorry, Scully."

"Sorry, sorry."

"Apologizes, Agent."

She made an annoyed noise in response.

_Doesn't it just figure_, Doggett thought to himself. _Doesn't it just figure._

The trip had started with a bang, or really, a whine. With 3 government agents, highly distinguished representatives of the United States government, whimpering about just how much they didn't want to go to a training seminar. Especially not in North Carolina. Especially with team building and cooperation as the topics of discussion. And especially not with their AD chaperoning them.

The last part was more implied.

Their whining had unsurprisingly only served to further aggravate Skinner, who had tersely informed them that he, too, had better things to do, that he was not going to enjoy the drive – yes, the drive – down to North Carolina any more than they were, and that the thought of having to babysit the 3 of them was lower on his list of things to do than playing tennis with Krycek, but those were their orders so they best shut it and pack before he did it for them.

A week later, they were in the FBI parking garage, loading their luggage into a 1995 Ford Explorer that had very clearly seen better days.

"Sir –"

"I know, Mulder, I know," Skinner gritted as he shoved Scully's suitcase into the trunk. "It was all there was that would fit the 4 of us."

Doggett surveyed the back seat. "Can it? They realize that 3 of us are over 6 feet tall?"

Skinner just sighed.

"Sorry, sorry. Isn't your fault," Doggett recanted. "Let's make the best of it."

A small smile tugged up the corner of Skinner's mouth. "And for that good attitude, Agent Doggett gets to ride shotgun."

"Aw! I called it in the elevator!"

Doggett grinned. Maybe the trip wouldn't be so bad after all.

Except it was. 3 days of trust exercises, mandatory yoga sessions (who would have ever guessed Scully – or, more disturbingly, Mulder – was that flexible), and lectures on cultural sensitivity that always managed to eat in their lunch hour. It was so bad that Skinner had sprung them loose early, skipping the final luncheon to get back on the road.

"Sensitive case," he lied smoothly to the coordinator.

She frowned and shoved 4 boxed lunches at him.

One final scuffle over front-seat rights ended with Doggett hip-checking Mulder away from the door handle, and they were on the road.

Until the tire, at least.

Two hours later and one very cramped tow truck ride later, the four stood in what Doggett could only imagine was the last open Howard Johnson's in the continental US.

"Not exactly the Sam Houston Motor Lodge," Mulder commented from across the lobby. Scully smirked and shot Mulder one of their looks, the ones that told you there was plenty of communicating going on, regardless of the silence. Doggett scowled. He hated those looks, made him feel like he'd never belong, even after all he'd done for that damn department.

The partners didn't notice. But Skinner saddled up next to him, and said, "Don't you hate when they do that? Like they're having a whole conversation while you're standing right there, clueless."

Doggett's jaw dropped. Then he gave a short laugh. "It's like being out in the schoolyard again."

Skinner chuckled. "Can't tell you how many times they've been in my office, and Mulder's backed himself into the corner with some insane yarn, and I'm this close to pinning him on it. Then they're exchanging one of those looks and Scully's giving some perfectly logical explanation for the destruction of a library or the loss of five government-issue cell phones in a week. I can't tell you which one pisses me off more."

"I don't know how you deal with it," Doggett sympathized. "Having to hear it, and then having to defend it to the higher-ups."

"Well, at least I'm not crammed in the basement with them."

"Yeah, well. It's not all bad. When he pisses her off, it's better than must-see TV. The other day he was flashing slide after slide of mutilated farms animals. She shrieked loud enough to make my ears ring, yanked the power cord right out of the slide machine, and stormed off."

Skinner's laugh was loud, catching Scully's attention. She peered over, confused, then poked Mulder and started over.

"Remind me to tell you about Texas," Skinner whispered conspiratorially, as he and Doggett stepped up to the front desk. "Imagine how she reacted to the prospect of prison time."

Doggett caught the goofy smile that threatened to pop out at the thought of trading stories with Skinner, and just nodded instead. Skinner wouldn't have noticed anyway, having already turned his attention to the hotel employee behind the counter. The woman – Jenny from Virginia Beach, according to her tag – barely glanced up, barked something about being with them in a minute, and answered the bleating phone.

Doggett suddenly noticed that for a motel in the middle of nowhere, the parking lot had been awful busy. And there had been those signs along the highway advertising the annual tri-county garlic fair. _Come all, this weekend only!_

The phone clattered back into its cradle.

"4 rooms, please," Skinner stated. "Singles."

She didn't even bother to look up, just continued typing away. "Honey, I ain't got one room, let alone 4. In case you haven't noticed, we're a little busy."

Doggett groaned. The tow truck driver had made it clear that this was it for the accommodations in the area. He had outright laughed at Mulder's request to take them to the local rental car office.

Skinner remained unfazed. "I can see that," he rumbled, his voice taking on a timber Doggett didn't quite recognize. "You can't beat a good garlic fair. No need to worry about who you're kissing when everyone's eating it."

John's jaw dropped – at Skinner's audacity, at the way it came out, so natural and flirtatious, like the man didn't spend his life issuing constant orders. The clerk's head snapped up, ready to give a nasty retort. But when she saw the man before her, the anger dissipated and she smiled back.

"Doing a lot of kissing?" she teased.

Skinner gave a smile. "You never know," he answered, and leaned in, arms on the counter. John and the clerk both watched intently as his tie slid over the edge.

"Here's the thing, Jenny. My agents and I," he tilted his head towards the three of them, "are trying to get back to DC, but our truck broke down. We're stuck until it can get fixed."

Her eyes widened. "Agents? Like, federal agents?"

"FBI."

Lips formed in a perfect 'o' shape, then formed in to a sultry smile. "If I get you a room, will you show me your… badge?"

Skinner grinned back, just as devious, and leaned in even closer. "I can show you more than that," he teased.

John heard a quiet "damn, Skinner," from behind him, then Scully hissing at Mulder to shut up. John felt his face getting red, a somewhat familiar feeling flooding his system, something that felt an awful lot like envy. He could see exactly what Jenny saw. The smooth, slow smile. Soft brown eyes, half-lidded behind wire-rimmed glasses. Those shoulders – John had the height but he was built like a pole, not at all like Skinner's shoulders and back, so broad it made John think you could tuck yourself in front of him and he would block out the rest of world. His tie was loosened but his shirt was still crisp - John and Mulder, they looked like they had been wrestling in the school yard –an utterly professional look that did not nothing to hide the obvious fact that there was nothing but muscle under there, right down the back and legs (John refused to allow himself to even consider that backside) to the floor.

John shifted uncomfortably. Forced his gaze down before it became obvious he was staring.

Jenny giggled again, then gave a glance behind her towards her co-workers and dropped her voice down to a conspiratorial whisper. "I am supposed to keep the family suite open for VIPs," she explained. "But I think we can work something out. It's 2 bedrooms, with a queen in each room."

John protested. "Sir, what with Scully bein' a girl and the 3 of us…"

"It's fine, agent," Skinner cut him off without so much as a glance, and John felt the heat in his ears as envy was quickly joined by anger. "We'll take it," he told Jenny, sliding the Bureau card towards her. "I can't tell you how appreciative we are."

Jenny's gaze back was downright predatory. "I'm sure you are."

"Jenny." A young man in a matching hotel vest poked his head out from the back room.

"Hmm," Jenny said absently.

"Your husband's on line one."

Skinner stood up straight again and smoothed down his tie

Jenny threw the man a furious look, then shoved the credit card and two card keys across the counter. "Room 415," she snipped, and grabbed the bleating phone.

"Thank you," Skinner replied pleasantly.

As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, Mulder let out a loud whistle. "Skin-man! Who knew!"

"Quiet, Agent," Skinner growled half-heartedly.

"You have to admit that was quite an impressive display, sir." Scully's deadpan delivery was betrayed by the twitch in her lip that threatened to give way into full-formed amusement. "I never realized you could be so… persuasive."

John grunted. "Not exactly appropriate for a federal agent."

Scully gave him an eyebrow. Skinner fixed him with an unreadable look. Mulder tsked. "Don't hate on the Assistant Director just 'cause you don't have game like that."

"I got plenty of game," he growled, knowing full well how ridiculous he sounded. But his nerves were raw enough, and Mulder was tugging on the last one.

"I don't know, man."

"Mulder," Scully warned.

"I'm just saying –"

"Mulder." Skinner this time.

The room did not help the mood any. Two bedrooms with a joint bath, and a small seating area that Doggett was horrified to see didn't include so much as a love seat, just two sad armchairs and a TV. They stood in silence for a few moments before Skinner sighed.

"Maybe we should have just put up with a few more yoga classes." He caught John's eye, and the younger man felt the small bemused smile doing wonders for his mood. He smiled back.

"Well, I could…"

"If we do this…"

"Regulations say…"

"Oh, for pete's sake." Scully's exasperated voice cut through the chatter. "We all know what regulations say about male and female agents. But I'm tired. Mulder, you and I are taking one room. Sir, you and Agent Doggett take the other. How we divided it up beyond that is up to each room. Clear?"

Doggett and Mulder glanced at each other, then at Skinner, whose face had gone blank, then at Scully, whose narrow eyes dared Skinner to say something in return. The agents simultaneously took a step back.

But Skinner just nodded. "Fine idea, Agent."

Scully made a satisfied noise, as if to say, _that was the right choice. _Mulder gaped. "What? Not fair! If I had suggested that, you would have strung me up."

"Don't be ridiculous, Mulder," Skinner snapped. "Go to bed."

Mulder huffed. Scully shoved their bags at him. "You heard the man, Mulder. Sir, Agent Doggett. See you in the morning."

The door clicked shut beyond them.

"Wise decision, sir. It's only natural to be a little…wary of Scully."

The reaction was priceless, as Skinner's head whipped around. "Are you implying I'm afraid of my agents, Doggett?"

John felt himself treading on thin ice but couldn't help himself, not after the day they'd all had. "No, sir. Just Scully."

If they had been back in DC, Doggett planted on the far side of Skinner's massive desk, the glare would have worried him, but this close up, he could see a glimmer in Skinner's eye that betrayed the stern face.

"It's understandable. Mulder might not know when to back off, but you and I..."

Skinner's lip twitched.

"We like to avoid a reaming whenever possible."

John grinned as Skinner laughed, pleased with himself for finally finding a way around the AD attitude to the man. Then Skinner shot him a mischievous smile, and John's breath caught a little in his chest.

"Well, I'm beginning to think Mulder likes that kind of thing."

"Beginning to think?" John shot back. "I haven't known the man that long, but I wouldn't be surprised if there's a secret room somewhere."

Skinner snorted. "You sound like you have a personal knowledge of such things," he teased, then immediately realized what he had said. A blush flew up his neck into his cheeks. "Excuse me, Agent. That was inappropriate – "

"It's fine," John cut in, his own cheeks warming up a bright pink. His mouth went dry as certain images popped unbidden into his brain. He quashed them down, hard. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

Skinner nodded curtly and excused himself to the bathroom. His obvious discomfort with John's joke made John wonder about the Assistant Director's… proclivities. It had been his experience that those who were the most uncomfortable with it were often the most interested by it. Not that John had all that much familiarity with the matter. He had never even really thought about it. Until now.

_And you get to share a bed with him_, a little voice in his head mocked.

John sighed. Even his own brain hated him.

The bed bounced as he dropped his bag on it. It was a large enough queen, and John knew that once he was out, he wouldn't move. Besides, both he and Skinner had been in the military, and had slept in far worse conditions that a decent hotel room.

His mind wondered back to a barrack in Bierut, and the rows of cots pressed up against the wall.

Another bag landed on the bed, and John jumped.

"Sorry," Skinner rumbled, draping his suit over the desk chair. Now clad in sweatpants and t-shirt, Skinner looked years younger. John realized he had never once envisioned Skinner in anything but a suit. It was interesting.

"I know, you all think I sleep in a suit. But I do exist outside the office."

John turned pink again at the thought that he was that easy to read. "I was just telling myself we've both slept in worse places that this," he fibbed.

"This certainly beats a foxhole," Skinner agreed. "At least no one's trying to shoot at us here."

"Unless Mulder really pisses Scully off."

"Nah, she's already done that." When John didn't respond, Skinner looked over to see Doggett's mouth hanging open. "You didn't know that?"

"No," Doggett stated emphatically. "Is she normally in the habit of shooting her partners? Because that's something I really would have liked to know."

Skinner shook his head. "Relax, John. It was for his own good. Mulder was being poisoned by Krycek and was out of his mind. He was about to shoot the rat bastard, which wouldn't have been so bad, but Krycek was unarmed. Scully shot Mulder in the shoulder to get him to drop his gun."

"Jeez," Doggett swore.

"Yeah, well." He cleared his throat. "You prefer a side, Agent?"

"Left, if you don't mind. My ex used to sleep to the right. It was…" _closer to Luke's room,_ he almost said, but bit it back. "It was her preference."

Skinner gave him a sideways glance but didn't pursue it. "Fine with me." The conversation lapsed as they stood there. "So unless you plan to sleep in your suit…"

"Oh, yeah, thanks,' John mumbled, and grabbed his bag. Closing the bathroom door behind him, he took a deep breath and splashed some water on his face. _Relax, John_, he thought. _It's one night. You'll be fine. Just stay on your side of the bed. _He stripped down and pulled on his sleeping shorts and tee. Folding his suit into a tight package, he took another deep breath. It was dark in the room, but John could make out the bed and that Skinner was already tucked in, turned away from where John would be laying. John set down his suit and slid under the covers as smoothly as possible. Laid there in the dark, listening to Skinner's even breathing and the traffic outside. Then Skinner's baritone cut through the darkness.

"John. I can feel the tension from over here. Relax."

_When the hell did Skinner become an expert in John Doggett?_ John bit back a nasty retort and replied, "I'm fine, sir," instead, but shifted his body so that he was in a more comfortable position. "Good night," he added.

"Good night, John."

The room fell silent. John fidgeted, suddenly feeling itchy all over. He slid his foot up to scratch the back of his knee. But then his heel slid against something hard. Something he had been staring at just an hour earlier. Skinner's backside.

He jerked his foot back down so hard the blankets pillowed up, then froze, his eyes squeezed shut and ears burning. Held his breath as he braced himself for the sly comment from Skinner.

Nothing came, just even breathing from the other side of the bed. John exhaled slowly and willed himself to relax before he pulled a muscle.

It was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

The first clue that something wasn't right was the scratchy sheet under his cheek.

The second was the huge hand shaking his shoulder.

John reacted instinctually, his hand snaking out from under the covers and lashing out at the intruder before he had time to think. A satisfying thud and a pained yell filled the room as John pounced out of bed, ready to fight. He froze at the sight of Skinner holding his nose and looking very, very annoyed.

"Oh shit!" John squeaked.

"What the hell's going on?" The door flew open and Mulder stumbled in, Scully hot on his heels. "Jesus, what the hell are you two doing in here?"

"I tried to wake him up and he punched me," Skinner growled from behind his hand. Scully pushed her partner aside and, grabbing a handful of tissues from the dresser, starting ministering to Skinner's nose.

"Sir, you're bleeding," she tsked. "Hold still."

Doggett's mouth flapped open and shut in his best dying fish imitation. "I – he – I was asleep! I didn't know!" He looked at Scully helplessly. "Is it – it's not… broken, right?"

"No, Agent, it's not broken," Skinner answered for her. "Relax."

"I'm sorry. Oh Jesus. I didn't realize…"

"It's fine. I'll be fine," Skinner said. "I probably would have done the same thing."

Doggett let out a deep breath. Then he noticed Mulder standing in the corner, grinning like a fiend.

"What the hell are you grinnin' about?" he snapped.

Mulder just grinned wider.

Scully shook her and turned back to Skinner, whose nose had stopped running red. "You should be fine, sir." Her lip quirked up. "But maybe you should let sleeping dogs lie from now on."

For a brief moment, they just looked at each other. Then Skinner cracked and laughed. Scully giggled at her own pun. Doggett frowned, always unhappy to be the butt of the joke.

"Oh, relax, John. You just socked your boss and got away with it. You should be doing cartwheels."

"Yeah, well," Doggett mumbled. He noticed Scully looking at him intently and suddenly realized that he was standing before his partners and his boss in a pair of sleeping shorts and a thin t-shirt. "What?"

Her lip curled up again. "And I thought Mulder had skinny legs."

Behind her, Skinner let out a booming laugh as Mulder and Doggett protested loudly in unison.

"Scully!"

"Hey!"

Scully just laughed and looked back at a very amused Skinner. "Like two stick insects," he concurred.

"Not fair!" Mulder howled from the corner and stalked into the other room.

It was out of Doggett's mouth before he had a chance to censor himself. "Just because we're not all built like a brick shithouse –"

Scully's mouth dropped open in a perfect 'o'.

Skinner stared, his face gone completely blank.

_Are you trying to get yourself fired? _John's brain screamed. He didn't know what was worse – that he'd said that to his boss, or that now everyone knew he had, at some point, thought about his boss's…. figure.

Then, in a spot-on impression of John's drawl, Skinner deadpanned, "why, sir. Thank you for noticing."

_Well, that answers_ that_ question_._ Definitely the knowing part._

Scully squealed in laughter. Doggett threw up his hands and deciding he had best just quit now – actually, that he should have quit about 15 minutes before – stalked into the bathroom.

"Aw, John," Scully called after him. "That was funny." She turned to Skinner. "You are very funny."

Skinner grinned. "Yeah, John," he mimicked. "Scully thinks I'm funny."

"Yeah, fine," came the muffled answer.

"I don't think either of you are very funny," Mulder whined from the other room.

John heard Scully's "Oh, Mulder," and the door click shut. He let out a sigh of relief. Finally, he was by himself.

There was a knock at the door. He ignored it.

"Oh, come on," Skinner's voice floated in. "I'm the one who got punched in the nose."

John grunted. The man did have a point. Yanking the door open, he held out a hand. "Sorry, sir. Truce?"

Skinner shook the offered hand. "Truce."

"Okay." John stepped forward to leave at the same time Skinner moved forward and the resulting shoulder bump sent John into the doorframe then back into Skinner like a pinball. Instinct brought his hands up against Skinner's broad chest to steady himself, but he yanked his hands back like they were on fire. "Oh for the love of –"

He couldn't see Skinner's face when he spoke, just felt him by his side. "We seem to have trouble when we're in close quarters, Agent." Skinner's deep baritone vibrated in John's ear. "Why do you think that is?"

Doggett's entire body tensed, and he swallowed thickly. Whatever joke Skinner was trying to make, John didn't appreciate it. "I really wouldn't know, sir," he bit out, and slid past Skinner with a little more force than necessary.

He didn't see the faltering look on Skinner's face.

John dressed as quickly as he could, shoved his stuff in his bag, and escaped down the stairs to wait for his fellow agents. It wasn't until the lobby that he breathed normally and felt the tightness in his chest dissipate.

_What the hell is going on_, he thought. _What the hell is Skinner trying to pull with me? And why am I reacting so badly to it?_ He wasn't some newbie. He'd worked with hard-asses and windbags and jerks before. _You share an office with Mulder, for Christ's sake_, he told himself. He obviously had some sort of social skills. And yet whenever he got around Skinner he went stupid. And Skinner… it just seemed like he was feeding into it.

Doggett frowned. He was reading too much in Skinner's actions. It had just been a few awkward moments. There was no way the AD had meant anything by it. Skinner didn't play games. He certainly didn't… didn't what?

_Didn't flirt with his male subordinates?, _the little voice in the back of his head helpfully supplied.

Doggett openly scoffed at that thought, ignoring the hollow feeling in his stomach. Walter Skinner absolutely did not flirt with his straight male subordinates. And they certainly did not want to be flirted at.

The little voice made a suspicious noise.

"Shut up, brain," he mumbled to himself.

"Talking to yourself, Agent Doggett?"

Doggett jumped, then turned to glare at his partner. Scully raised an eyebrow.

"You're very jumpy this morning, Agent Doggett," she stated calmly.

Doggett just glared harder. Scully took the hint and walked away without another word.

He could hear his mother's voice in his head. _John Jay Doggett, no need to be discourteous_. He followed after his partner, sitting in an opposing armchair. "Sorry, Scully. Didn't mean to be rude. I just… didn't sleep well."

Scully smiled. "It's fine, John. I understand. Everyone was uncomfortable last night."

Doggett suppressed a remark about her and Mulder seeming to be just hunky-dory and forced out a smile instead. "Yeah. Thanks."

A duffle bag landed on the floor next to him, followed by Mulder and, John suspected, Skinner, thought he couldn't be sure. He was too busy fastidiously studying Mulder's suddenly-fascinating sneakers.

"We're all checked out," Mulder informed them. "The truck's fixed and waiting outside." He poked John in the shoulder. "You there? Oh, I should probably keep my hands to myself. Don't want to get knocked out."

John gritted his teeth.

"Mulder." There was that warning tone again.

"I was just kidding, Scully."

"Agents." There he was, standing right behind Doggett, just as he'd suspected. "Let's go. Now."

The three followed behind, all feeling, Doggett suspected, like he did, like a chastised child. They piled into the Explorer – Skinner driving, Scully riding shotgun, Mulder and him in the back like two naughty boys (_a real family trip_, Doggett thought) – and silently took off for Washington.

When the Explorer pulled up on his street in Falls Church, he could have cried in relief. He mumbled a few goodbyes and yanked his bag out of the backseat. It came precariously close to Mulder's head, and the other man made a disgruntled noise.

It was the first conversation they'd had since North Carolina.

Doggett dragged himself up his walk and up to his front door, scrounging around in his pockets for his keys. At the curb, Skinner idled as John unlocked his door and closed it behind him. John felt like a child again.

Inside, his house was dark and quiet and blessedly cool. He jogged up the stairs, stripping as he went, and stepped into the shower to wash off the last few days and think. As if he hadn't done enough of at on the ride back from North Carolina. He just hadn't come up with any answers.

When had this all started? When had he first caught himself gazing at Walter Skinner and wondering what he was thinking, what he was doing after work, what he would say if John just walked up and kissed him?

John hadn't known when he first met Skinner that he wasn't really meeting the AD, that he was really just experiencing the aftershocks of Mulder's disappearance, his first clue as to what it was like to be pulled into that overwhelming undertow. John had just gotten assigned to the freak show that was the Fox Mulder rescue effort, still didn't know quite what the hell was going on, when Scully had stormed in, Skinner on her heels, threatening to throw the whole thing into even greater chaos. And John had thought, _so this is the infamous partner,_ and hadn't given a single thought to the man beside her. When things stabilized – what passed for stabilization in the basement office, at least – and Doggett's world reopened beyond Mulder and Scully and empty coffins, he suddenly realized Skinner there, like a tree you don't even realize you're leaning against until the wind dies down and you can stand up on your own again. John wasn't sure the other two ever really saw that; it made his realization all the more acute, and he felt a stirring in his gut that hadn't been there for a very, very long time.

It had both thrilled and worried John, and it was with equal parts relief and disappointment that he consigned what he was feeling – what he was dreaming about – to the never happen file, even as bat-men flew at him and black oil took on sentience. Because if there was anything more unbelievable that alien life on earth, it was that Walter Skinner would be interested in him. Skinner had been around for much longer but they were both in the same position, outlying characters in the Mulder and Scully show, helpless to do anything but try and keep their heads above the slipstream. It was some kind of Stockholm Syndrome, he figured. Regardless of it all, John's brain reasoned, Walter Skinner did not get to be where he was by taking up ill-advised affairs with his subordinates. He spent enough time trying to keep his ass out of the fire for protecting the X-Files. _You'd be stupid to think he'd risk it all for you_, his logic center pointed out.

But that voice in the back of his head started in, piping up insistently that _yes, he was just looking at you_. And he had to admit, that voice had always been right before.

_Enough thinking, _he told himself sternly. _Whatever this is_, _however, you feel – he feels – it's a bad idea, and you need to get over it_.


	3. Chapter 3

John grunted and for the fifth time, yanked his bowtie from his collar. Took a deep breath and tried again. The damn thing wouldn't tie right, no matter what he did. Barbara had always tied it for him when they were married. His mind wondered for a minute about someone else tying it for him. Or untying it for him.

He shook his head. "Concentrate," he growled to his reflection.

"John?"

Doggett jumped, bowtie flying, hands instinctually grabbing for the holster at his waist. "Jesus, Monica!"

Reyes held up her hands in peace. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry. I saw you standing in the middle of the lobby, muttering to yourself." She picked up the bowtie and gave him a smirk. "Don't tell me you've been bested by a strip of fabric."

Doggett willed himself to breath normally. "That damn thing is giving me fits." Without asking, Monica popped up John's collar and threaded the fabric through. Nimble fingers tied a neat knot, and he remembered Barbara's amusement at his frustration. "Must be one of those things they teach you women in school."

Monica laughed. "Oh, sure. Right after pie-making and diaper-changing. There, all done." She stepped back. Her bracelets jangled softly, and John realized he hadn't even noticed the attractive woman in the long black dress in front of him.

"You look beautiful, Mon," he said softly. Monica smiled and patted his lapel.

"Thank you, John. Now get back in there before they send someone out after you."

Doggett grunted. It wasn't like he hadn't know the annual FBI Holiday Ball was coming. It was the same thing every year. Hundreds of agents crammed in a too-hot hotel ballroom, kissing ass and jostling for promotions or looking to get lucky for the night – everything John hated about bureaucracy. But he wasn't ready to torpedo his career completely, and missing the Ball was the sure way to end chain to a desk in the bullpen investigating large purchases of manure. Although, John thought ruefully, the powers that be probably figured they couldn't punish him any more than keeping where he was. "Sure there aren't some unusual lights in the sky we need to investigate?"

Monica laughed again. "Sorry, Mulder already tried that excuse. Skinner told him to stop whining, especially since it was the first time he'd been since he was assigned to the X-Files."

John's heart rate picked up. "Skinner's here?" he replied, trying for casual and hitting squeaky instead. Last he had heard, Skinner was knee-deep in budget negotiations and had gotten an official reprieve from the Director to stay at the office. John had been flooded with a ruefully relief when he found out he would be free for the evening. "I thought he got held up." Just the thought of Skinner in formal wear made him warm all over, and he fidgeted at nothing.

"I guess he made it." Reyes gave John a long look. "Are you all right? Did something happen between you and Skinner?"

"No," he answered, too quickly. Reyes looked suspicious. "No. It's just the monkey suit, you know? Makes me jumpy."

She made a humming noise.

"Really, Mon. It's fine."

"Well, good." She gestured over his shoulder. "Because here he comes."

_Here who comes – oh, crap_. John turned slowly to see Skinner behind him. The air left his lungs and his stomach did a heavy flip. If he thought Skinner filled out his suits well, it was nothing compared to him in a classic tux, perfectly tailored to those shoulders, that waist. His bowtie, John noticed, was perfectly centered. He swallowed hard and prayed the naked desire he felt wasn't completely written all over his face.

Luckily for John, Skinner seemed focus on the woman by his side. "Agent Reyes, you look quite lovely tonight."

"Thank you, sir. You're looking dashing yourself." She grinned. "You and Agent Doggett be back-to-back months in a "Men of the FBI" calendar."

John made a noise and glared at her, horrified. She laughed.

"Relax, John. It was a compliment."

"Yes, well." Skinner cleared his throat, his cheeks a light shade of pink. "What are we all doing in the lobby?"

"John was fighting with his bowtie," Monica answered helpfully. She patted his lapel again, straightening out his collar. "I had to help him out. He never could tie one himself."

Doggett knew Monica was just speaking naturally, but he wanted to tell her to shut up and stop touching him, that she was giving off the wrong impression.

_What? You've been friends for 10 years, _the voice pointed out. _Why are you so worried he'll think there's something else there? _

Feeling helpless, Doggett tried not fidget, just nodded and repeated himself. "Damn thing gives me fits." Looked sideways to catch Skinner watching him with that unreadable look. It reminded him of something. What was that line from "Gone With the Wind" that made Barbara laugh all the time, he thought.

_He looks as if he knows what I look like without my shimmy. _

It made him want to shove Monica aside and find out what it was really all about.

Skinner just gazed back. _It seems you've got somethin' he's interested in,_ the voice in his head crowed to John. All right then, he thought. Two can play at this game. He gave Skinner the smile he usually reserved for wooing over reluctant female witnesses. "I'm much better at getting these things off than on," he said in a low voice. Had to force the grin down as Skinner's cheek twitched just barely. Then something floated across the brown eyes that suggested John was headed somewhere far more dangerous than he knew. The voice was positively shrieking now.

_You see! That was NOT disinterest you just saw._

If he had noticed Monica was still there, John would have seen she had gone completely still, intently watching her partner and boss and whatever was buzzing between them. But his focus had limited itself to the man in the front of him.

"Assistant Director!"

Then it was gone. Skinner blinked and his eyes cleared and it was like John had never seen anything, like it was all in his head. Arlene smiled at him and Monica and turned back to her boss. "Deputy Director Bay is looking for you," she warned him.

Skinner rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I thought I had shook him," he rumbled. "Excuse me, agents." Then he and Arlene disappeared back into the ball room. They were just out of sight when Monica whipped around.

"What the hell was that all about?"

"What?" John answered lamely, too distracted to mount a defense for himself. "Nothing. What are you talkin' about?"

She gave him an incredulous look and he cursed her stupid intuition for things he preferred to keep quiet. "John, if I didn't know any better, I would think that Skinner – "

He cut her off with a dismissive noise and a wave. He suddenly didn't want to know, didn't want confirmation that he had seen what he thought he had seen, at least not from Monica. He was moony enough already. The last thing he needed now was encouragement.

The last thing he needed was hope.

Beside him, Monica laughed. The bar had already been crowded with normal Saturday night patrons when the hoard of formally-clad agents had made their way in, finally freed from the ballroom across the street. John looked up from his glass and glanced around the room, wondering where the rest of his small group had gone. He located Mulder and Scully in the corner of the bar, moving to that will-they-or-won't-they dance that kept the secretary pool so confused. They'd sway together, move a little closer, until you were sure they'd kiss, and Mulder would make a joke or Scully would smirk and they'd both step back. It was a well-choreographed dance. John wanted to punch Mulder in the shoulder and tell him, she already had your kid, just kiss her.

_Like you're one to talk_, his brain chastised.

Subconsciously, he turned his head to look for Skinner. Found him on the dance floor, the blond from the next table wrapped up in his arms. John watched with discomfort as the blond lifted herself up on her toes to whisper something in Skinner's ear, then looked at him suggestively through her eyelashes.

John didn't have to be standing there to know what she had just offered.

Skinner's eyebrows quirked up and he looked up for a second, probably to formulate his answer. Accidently caught John's gaze.

_Look away, you idiot! _his brain yelled. But John just looked back. Saw something funny in the AD's eyes. Skinner's gaze flicked back to the blond and he responded. The blond nodded and gave a weak smile, badly concealing her embarrassment. Then Skinner made some sort of quip and the blond laughed and allowed herself to be spin around the floor. Awkward moment avoided.

John slammed back the rest of his drink and leaned towards Monica. "I'm getting out of here."

She stared at him blankly as the words made their way through the noise and the alcohol and into her brain. Then she frowned. "Already?"

"I'm beat. You'll be all right getting home?"

She nodded.

"Be careful. Watch around you."

She huffed in mock-annoyance. "I am an FBI agent, you know!"

_A drunk FBI agent_, he almost retorted, but just leaned in and kissed her cheek. "See you later."

She looked agog at his sudden display of emotion, and for a moment he worried she might launch herself at him. Then she gave him that wicked smile. "Are you sure you don't want to check in with someone else first?"

John glared at her. She laughed at him. "I'm just kidding," she teased. "Get out, you party-pooper."

John gave her one last look and started to make his way across the dance floor. He was almost at the door when he got the strangest feeling he was being watched.

_Feeling? _The voice said rudely. _Or hope?_

He resisted the urge to turn around and just rubbed his face instead. It was going to be another long night.


	4. Chapter 4

He had traded the smoky din of the bar for the absolute quiet of the suburbs, and he wasn't sure he liked it any better. He took a shower and climbed into bed, only to find himself staring at the ceiling. He tried counting sheep, soft music, even those meditation tapes Monica had given him for his last birthday. Eventually, he got up and trekked down to the kitchen. Organizing the cabinets always made him feel calmer.

He was pulling out the last of the cans when there was a knock at the front door. John glanced to the microwave clock. 1:15 a.m. He looked warily at the door, then picked up the gun that lay on top of the refrigerator. Made his way quietly across the living room.

Through the door glass, he spotted the top of a head. A bald head.

John groaned. _It can't be._

Walter Skinner, standing on his porch. He had lost his bowtie and jacket somewhere along the way, and his shirt was untucked. John could feel his traitorous body reacting, wanting to finish the job.

_Control yourself_, his brain scolded.

_Shut up and get out of my way_, the little voice retorted.

John knew Skinner wasn't standing on his stoop in the middle of the night just to say hi. If the man had the nerve to come all the way to his house to reprimand him, the least John could do was be a man and open the door.

Skinner's face was unreadable in the darkness. "Oh. I hope I didn't wake you. Were you sleeping?"

_No, I was thinking about you_, John's brain snarked, but John just pushed the thought down and stepped aside to let Skinner in. "No, I was organizing my kitchen cabinets." As if it was the most normal thing in the world to be doing at 1 in the morning. As if anything about the situation was normal.

Skinner's eyebrow flew up and he peered around into the kitchen, where every surface was covered in nonperishable goods. "Interesting habit," he said dryly.

"Yeah, well, it helps me sleep."

Skinner thought for a moment, then nodded his head in a way that let John know the other man was familiar with sleeping troubles. They regarded each other silent for a few moments until Skinner finally spoke. "We need to talk about this."

John swallowed thickly. _Oh, Christ. He must think I'm really addled._ _At least he had the decency to come here and fire me instead of calling me up to the 4__th__ floor and defrocking me in front of the whole FBI. _

"And you should probably put the gun down."

Doggett looked down at the Sig in his hand. "Oh. Yeah." He laid it on his desk and looked back at the kitchen, mentally calculating his chances of making it out the back door before Skinner tackled him. A sea of canned vegetables blocked his path.

_Damned OCD._

"Get a lot of criminals knocking at the front door?"

A joke. Doggett resisted the urge to tell Skinner to lose the attempt at humor and stick to the gruff AD routine, and gave a fake laugh instead. "So. Sir."

"I think Walter is fine for now, John."

Doggett bit down hard as every awkward move – the hotel, the bar, the basement – rose up from his memory. Damn the embarrassment, if he was getting fired, he was doing it with some dignity. He clenched his jaw. "I think I prefer sir."

Skinner's jaw dropped, and his face colored a deep red. "I see. I should go." Yanked at the door so hard John thought it might come right off the hinges.

Something in the AD's voice and actions finally registered deep in Doggett's brain and it suddenly hit him that he had completely misjudged the situation. "Wait. Wait." He stepped in front of the AD, slamming the door shut. "Why are you here?"

"Why do you think I'm here?"

"You're not firing me?"

Skinner gaped at him. "What the hell would make you think I was firing you?"

"Why are you here?" Doggett shot back. His heart was racing, fear and adrenalin and hope all mixed together.

"You think I would come to your house in the middle of the night to fire you?"

Doggett wanted to shake the man and yell, "_focus_!". He took a deep breath instead. "Why are you here, Walter?"

Skinner looked at him for a few moments, then shook his head. "Maybe I should just go," he said, quieter than before. "This was a mistake."

The specter of Doggett's immediate dismissal gone, something else replaced it, something different, something he had tucked down tight in the never happening folder of his mind. Doggett lifted his hand slowly and after a moment's hesitation laid it on Skinner's arm. "No, it wasn't," he said, just as quietly. "Just tell me why you came here."

Doggett watched with fascination as Skinner struggled to conceal his uncertainty. "Ashley said something."

"Who the hell is Ashley?"

"The blond at the bar. Her name was Ashley." Doggett made a disgusted noise but Skinner just continued on. "She asked if there was something going on between us." His words were coming out in a rush, so unlike his usual deliberate speech. "She asked why we kept looking at each other like that."

Doggett's immediate reaction was to find Ashley and tell her exactly how she needed to mind her own business. Then he realized exactly what Skinner had said. Not, _why does that guy keep staring at you_.

_Why do you keep staring at each other like that._

Skinner fell silent. John knew it was his turn to speak but his mind was racing too fast to form any real answer, so he said the first thing that popped into his head. "You looked guilty."

Skinner sucked in a sharp breath.

"After Ashley asked you to go home with her. You looked up and I thought to myself, 'he looks guilty'."

He didn't know why he was surprised – it had been a night of surprises already – but when Skinner nodded his agreement Doggett almost fell over. "I did feel guilty. I felt like I was leading her on." His voice was low. He looked up and met Doggett's eyes, and the younger man felt his stomach do that special AD-related flip. "When I knew it wasn't her I wanted to go home with."

After it was all done, Doggett would tell himself that he reacted with poise and polish, when in fact he'd turned bright red and squeaked out a high-pitched, "oh".

"Yeah, oh."

"Oh," Doggett repeated. The world was spinning now. He sat heavily on the couch.

"John?"

"Just a sec," he wheezed. Contemplated sticking his head between his knees.

"John, you're killing me right now." Skinner's voice was thin and strained, and it occurred to John through the screaming voices in the back of his mind that the other man might be just as scared as him. John looked up. Skinner's hands were jammed tight in his pockets, and he was pink in the face. For some reason, the other man's panic calmed John's beating heart.

He took another deep breath and stood.

Told all the voices to shut up, he would deal with this himself.

"So… this person you did want to go home with. This person… is not a petite blond, I'm guessing?" He hazarded a smile when Skinner glared in response. "Taller, perhaps?"

"Damn it, John," Skinner growled, yanking John forward.

John laughed. Felt Skinner suck in his breath as John molded their bodies together, shoulders to knees. "More… muscular?"

"You have a high opinion of yourself, Agent," Skinner teased back. He released the handful of John's shirt he had grabbed and moved his hand across his chest to his back. Doggett moved forward that little bit more.

"Not agent," he corrected. "John."

"John," Skinner repeated. Titled his head and kissed him, day-old stubble scraping together. "John."

"Walter," John breathed back, kissed him again. He was dizzy again but he didn't care. The world could spin off its axis and he wouldn't much care, so long as Walter kept kissing him like that. Like he was drowning and John was an oasis in the desert. He hadn't been kissed like this in years. Christ, he hadn't been kissed like this ever, not Barbara, not even…

An old, old memory threatened to float up.

Skinner's hands were on his waist now, squeezing his hips. A huge hand snaked up under the hem of his tee-shirt to rest on bare skin, so hot John felt like it would burn him. His own hands ran over the broad shoulders, the strong back. Muscular biceps tightened under his palms.

John wrapped his hands around the back of Skinner's skull. No mistaking who he was kissing, not when his fingers grazed the short hairline. Except…

Images of another Marine with strong biceps flooded his brain, and suddenly John felt like he was drowning.

Then he was shoving hard against Skinner, so hard he stumbled back into the desk, pens and papers and Doggett's gun clattering.

"Jesus, John!"

John gasped, desperate for air. He couldn't find the surface. The emotion was all too much, too fast. His back hit the door, hard, as his body tried to put as much distance between him and Skinner as possible. He spread his hands out against the cool wood and tried to breathe normally, tried to remember what the Marines had taught him in basic training.

_In and out, _he told himself. _In and out. Focus. Keep breathing. _

He felt the tightness retreat a little bit, then a little more, until he was able to raise his head without feeling it would spin off onto the floor. He immediately wished he hadn't.

Skinner's face was a blotchy red, and where his hands gripped the edge of the desk his fingers were white. His collar was pulled open wide and Doggett could see his chest rising up and down heavily. The silence was so deep that Doggett was almost sure he could hear the heart below it drumming, then realized it was his own he heard so loudly in his ears.

They stayed that way for what seemed like hours, until Skinner took mercy on them both and summoned the courage John didn't have to speak.

"John." His voice was barely there. "What was that?"

"I…I can't…" He stopped himself, realizing that he didn't know what he wanted to say, let alone how he was going to say it if he did. Closed his eyes and tried to calm his mind. _Just tell him the truth_, some part of his brain told him. But that wasn't possible. Not for a load of reasons. Not for a butch ex-Marine who didn't talk about his feelings to his mother, let alone his boss.

_Most butch ex-Marines don't kiss their bosses, either_, his mind told him.

"This is not helping," he whimpered, realizing only belatedly that he had spoken out loud.

"What isn't?"

He opened his eyes to Skinner. "No, I just – I wasn't… _Oh Christ_."

"Profound," Skinner spit out. "Now care to answer me intelligibly?"

Something sparked inside John, a defensive stance, and he just barely bit off the _fuck you_ that almost flew out. He knew Skinner had every right to be pissed but the sudden anger had triggered that instinct to fight and it made him feel irrationally better. This he could understand. This he could deal with.

"This was a mistake," he spit back. It was a lie, he knew that even as the words left his mouth, but it put the ground back under his feet, gave him a way to keep back the fear.

"A mistake?" Skinner boomed. "Are you _fucking_ serious?"

Skinner's anger fed his own and he pushed himself off the door, planting his feet firmly beneath him. "You heard me," he said, and suddenly felt the urge to twist the knife. _Piss off Skinner enough and he just might never speak to you again_. "You never should have come here."

"I shouldn't have – you're blaming me for this?" Skinner was in his face now. "Why? Because I'm the one that actually had the fucking balls to do something about it, instead of running away?"

This time he couldn't cut it off in time. "_Fuck you_, Skinner. I didn't run away from anything. And you didn't have the balls to do anything but try and start shit."

Doggett saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and braced himself for the punch. _Good, _he thought. _Do it. Finish this._

But Skinner's fist stopped midair, and the other man drew back instead, his face contorted as he struggled to regain control. He took a deep breath.

Doggett felt an immediate sensation of loss, of what, he wasn't sure.

It was silence again. And again, it was Skinner that spoke first.

"So this was a mistake," he said slowly. His voice steadied, and took on that familiar authoritative tone.

"This is done. We won't speak of it again."

Doggett swallowed hard, and gave a curt nod. The anger-infused adrenaline dropped away as quickly as it had come, and he could feel the wave slipping back to sea, leaving an empty landscape behind. _Don't do this,_ the little voice screamed. _You are ruining it all. _

"It's done," he echoed.

Skinner didn't speak again, just gave Doggett one last long look. The disappointment was like a third person in the room, standing beside them. Then Skinner gave a sharp shake of his head and walked away.

The door slammed so hard behind him that the small picture frame about the door rattled and fell. The glass shattered out, and a piece landed by Doggett's boot.

His heart felt the same way.


End file.
